Jellicle Musings
by Megera
Summary: (CATS) Updated (finally): Five different cats on five different topics. It's sorta strange
1. In the Eye of the Beholder

Disclaimer: Surprisingly enough, I don't own Cats or Cats characters., nor do I own the titles, which I . . borrowed from various songs/movies.

Note: Erm. . . I don't really know what the deal is with this little. . . collection. The idea nagged at me so I wrote it down. These are three short 'musings' from three different characters. They aren't technically stories and they don't really tie in with each other and they take place at different times in relation to the Ball. Yeah, so lemme know what ya think. =0)

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In The Eye of the Beholder-Jemima

What is beauty, really? This isn't something I think about often. I just happened to catch my reflection in an old mirror and the question popped into my head. Everyone says I'm beautiful. "Jemima, you're such a beautiful kit." they say, smiling in that strange adult way of theirs. I stand at the mirror, turning this way and that, trying to find out what makes me beautiful.

I'm brownish, black, white and red. Not the extreme red of Bombalurina, but there is a bit of it in me. My eyes are blue and the white is across my face down to my belly. What's so great about that?

If what I see in the mirror is beauty, what is ugly? I can't think of any cat that would be considered ugly. Even Macavity has a wild, fantastic sort of beauty that makes queens half in love with him even when they hate him. What about the other kittens, Electra, Victoria, Etcetera, even Rumpelteazer who is not quite all adult?

According to older ones, Victoria is beautiful. She looks nothing like me, yet she is likewise 'a beauty'. No one calls Electra or Etcetera or Rumpelteazer beautiful. Cute, adorable, even pretty, but not beautiful. Freckles = cute, blue eyes = beauty?

What about the toms? I suppose Misto is beautiful, the tom counterpart to the ivory Victoria. I think Pounce, Plato and Tumble are big smelly fur balls, but Bombalurina says that will change in time. I'm not so sure. Surely Mungojerrie would fall into the cute category. 

The Rum Tum Tugger is beautiful. I can see that. Everyone can see that. He's beautiful even when he's being mean, which he is most of the time. Etcetera loves him no matter how many times he ignores her. Is Munkustrap beautiful? Alonzo? What about Gus, or Jenny? Is Exotica, with her dark eyes and shadowy fur? What about Old Deuteronomy? He's all gray and round and shaggy. Is that beauty? Are Tantomile and Coricopat, all dark and striped?

Is beauty constant? What about when I'm being bratty? Can someone be beautiful when their paws are muddy and their eyes wet from crying and their nose running? When I bite Pounce just to be mean or say something hurtful to Electra, am I beautiful then? 

I know Bombalurina is beautiful. She's tall and shapely and red. Demeter is, in her golden way. Does that mean anything? Grizabella was beautiful, right?

I think I was wrong before. About Rumpelteazer, I mean. I can hear her laughing somewhere behind me. She must be beautiful. Mungojerrie loves her in such a crazy, happy way so he must see her beauty. Then I guess it would be the same for him. I think that to Rumpelteazer, Mungojerrie must be the most beautiful tom in the world. I think I might not be a very good judge of beauty.

I remember once Coricopat was sick and taken to the vet. Tantomile couldn't touch him in her mind because of the medicine they gave him. She curled up in a tight ball and cried until he returned. They must be beautiful to each other if it hurts so much to be apart.

Munkustrap can be wonderfully beautiful. When he's telling a story, when he's taking time to help me or one of the other kits. When Munkustrap was sprawled out in the mud, scraped and bleeding from fighting Macavity, he was brilliant.

When Electra took the blame for me after I ruined Jenny's knitting, she was beautiful. Etcetera is beautiful when she tells me a joke to cheer me up. Even the boys are okay when they help me get a mouse or play tag. Deuteronomy is beautiful too, when he holds kittens on his lap. Jellyorum seems to shine when she's dancing with Asparagus and I know that Jenny is nothing less than a knock out to Skimble when he returns after spending so much time with his trains. When I think about it, I've seen every cat in the junkyard be beautiful. Cassandra, Bustopher, Alonzo, all of them, beautiful at different times. And Grizabella's beauty, in the end, brought many of us to tears. 

That, I think, is real beauty. That kind that doesn't come from your fur but from your smile or your jokes or your gentle nature or your love. If you look in the right way I'll bet you can see it in anyone.

I want to be that kind of beautiful. That inside-out beauty that all of the cats I admire and love have. I hope I can do that. I think I can do that. I bet, if I try to, that I can see everyone's beauty first and not worry so much about other things.

I think some of the adults should try that too. It's harder for them, I guess. Jenny tells me so sometimes. They've seen a lot, and I guess not all of it is good. Like Demeter, who wouldn't get near any toms bigger than her because of Macavity. Munkustrap showed her his beauty, and eventually it helped her to see beauty in other toms. Now she's not so scared. She's happier. 

That's probably why they weren't very nice to Grizabella. They were scared of her, they didn't want bad things happening to me or the other kits. They thought she was dangerous, I suppose. That's kind of silly. She was just and old, sad. They wouldn't let themselves see her beauty.

I'm going to try really hard not to get scared like that, to the point where it blinds me.

I think I understand a little better now. Probably not completely, but that's okay. I've got time to learn. What is beauty? Maybe not what is beauty, but where. Where is beauty? I'd have to say everywhere.


	2. A Many Splendid Thing

A Many Splendid Thing- Grizabella

There's so much talk of love. Not just amongst cats, the humans too. They've devoted an entire day to love. What foolishness. What do they know of love? They, with their wing'ed cupids, faded roses and cheap paper valentines. 

I know what love is. Love is a joke. I have walked many roads, seen many faces and I've never found real love.

I thought I would find it. That's why I left. Why I abandoned my home and family. To find love. I though I did find it. I followed a handsome tom with sweet words out of the junkyard into the dark, cold streets where he disappeared. He slipped off into the shadows and I was alone in the cold, unforgiving alleys.

I could not return to my home, not like that. Grizabella? Abandoned? I would never let them see me like that. It was pride. I know it now and I knew it then. 

I followed love like it was living. Like some gauzy pink and red butterfly that was just beyond my reach. I thought I could catch it in a jar. Keep it forever. Naive and proud. 

I heard whispers of love, promises of love. I believed them at first, then I learned that it was only love for my body and even that didn't last. I gave my everything in my search for love. I ended up alone still.

I see others in the alley that are like I was, trying to grasp the butterfly. They look at the toms that search the streets with coy smiles and bedroom eyes. Hoping they are good enough for a night of purchased loved with any stranger that will bother with them. If there was such a thing as love, it wouldn't be in these wet, dank streets.

I have returned to the junkyard on occasion. Just to look. I recognize some of them. Jenny, Jelly, Skimble, Deuteronomy, of course. I think the tall silver tom is Munkustrap. He's certainly grown. I don't know the others. They think they know of love. Two of them in particular. A handsome tom with a lion's main and smooth voice. A fiery red queen with long legs and swinging hips. I watch them sometimes. They both have flocks that follow them, worshipping them with their eyes. They laugh, these comely creatures. They think they understand the spells they weave with a suggestive word, with a well-placed touch. One day they'll realize they're wrong. The spells do not last. The admirers will find other heroes, other handsome dreams to chase. And they will be alone too.

I wish there was love. Sometimes, I even pretend there is such a thing. When it is silent on the pavement and the only future I can see is the one that comes with the cold dawn. The dawn is always cold to me. Its bright glare makes it impossible to conceal anything. I will take the emptiness of the night to the exposure of the day. Sometimes, during those times, I play games in my head. I 'suppose'. Suppose I returned to the junkyard? Suppose my sister would catch sight of me and smile, take my paws in hers. We would sit and talk like we used to, like no time had passed. But then the sun rises and I shiver. The dream crumbles around me. It would never happen. I cannot bring myself to return and my sister. . . Jellylorum is not that forgiving. None of them are. Love does not extend to glamour cats with stained coats and more memories of one night stands than I care to count.

So I pace the streets, like a phantom. Sometimes clinging to memories of a time when the sun did not freeze my very soul. Sometimes I return to the alleys with the others, to smile and hope. To grasp at the butterfly that can never be caught. I can turn off my common sense for another night of fake affection. I can suppose that the night won't end. That the cruel sun won't rise to have me find another faded paper valentine. I can suppose . . .


	3. Midnight in the Garden

Midnight in the Garden-Macavity

So I am evil. That's the word on the streets, anyway. I'm a fiend, a monster. I am evil. How does one become evil, exactly? Are you born evil? If so, then all my misdeeds are not my fault. How can I be blamed for the way I am, the way I was created? 

If I was not born evil, what made me evil? Is it a conscious decision, or something that grows over time? 

What is evil, anyway? It's nothing but a label for something someone doesn't like. I don't much like the color purple, so the color purple is therefore evil. Ridiculous! Stupid logic.

Evil is madness. Evil creatures do insane things so to be evil is to be crazy. I am not crazy.

I am compared to Munkustrap, that damned, shinning example of everything I am not. He is my evil. 

I cannot be evil, or completely evil at least. Evil doesn't love and I do. I love like fire, consuming, uncontrolled. I love Demeter in that way. I don't know any other way to love. I love Demeter enough to fight for her, over and over again. I will do anything. Anything. Anything to have her. Munkustrap steals her from me, he takes my everything, the golden object of my affection in one swoop. Isn't that evil? To take the only thing that I've ever wanted? I would leave Munkustrap to himself and his happy little tribe, but he touches me with his evil. He steals my Demeter, taints her mind against me. That is evil. 

See how the lines blur, how it's not so black and white?

And what of my deeds? They are not crazy, not evil. I steal. I steal to eat. Many steal to eat. I kill. Many cats kill. They kill a mouse, a fish, a rabbit. How is that better than killing another cat? And the damned Jellicle deity, the Everlasting Cat kills. Kills without reason, without prejudice. I kill for a reason, not a whim. I am less evil than the Everlasting Cat, if evil can be measured.

Evil. . . only a label. That's what I tell myself. If I let my mind wander to the consequences of "evil" I'll go insane. I have an image that I must maintain in order to keep control. I cannot lose control. Control is all I have. If any of those under me knew that I spent my time pondering the nature of my soul they would see it as a sign of weakness. I imagine they would be right. For this reason I am left alone to consider the mysteries of life that I do not completely understand. At night sometimes, I will think on it, I have little need for sleep. I wonder how life could have been. Maybe I should have followed Munkustrap's example. He, after all, has Demeter. Some, tiny, strange part of me is envious of the life he has made for himself. The way the others flock to him if he so much as smiles. Their simple minds are content with a flattering word from their tabby prince. It would be easier to be simple as they. If I was like that, would my name be the one Demeter calls? 

What of the future? I cannot live forever, and what will happen when the time comes? I am obviously not destined for the Heaviside Layer, so then where will I end up? Maybe it's all a myth, the Heaviside Layer, the Everlasting Cat, all of it stories to keep kittens in line.

It seems an awful risk, sometimes. To take the road less traveled when I have no promises about the afterlife. Have I sold my soul for power and wealth in this world only to be damned in the next?

It is pointless to concern myself with such things now. It is too late to change my ways, even if I wanted too, which I don't. If there is no hope for me, then I will make the most of the life I have made for myself. I will stand tall and take whatever is waiting for me in the end. I have no choice. I know no other way.

I burnt my bridges long ago.


	4. A Sister's Prayer

A Sister's Prayer-Bombalurina

Demeter is frightened. Demeter is always frightened. Some loud noise makes her jump and she crouches, like she's been struck. I go to her, I soothe her. See, it's only the kittens. There's no one there but the kittens. Don't be frightened.

An arm around her shoulder, a gentle touch to her face and she smiles weakly, reassured. She moves to another part of the junkyard.

How many times do I comfort her? A bright light, a loud sound and she is again terrified. She must be approached, be either Munkustrap or me. The timid creature will not come to us. Fear freezes her in her place. Munkustrap or I must wake her from it. Her wide eyes will search my face and she leans into my shoulder. Munkustrap must wait until she is certain that I have said it's all right. I confirm her safety. See, it's only a bit of trash that's fallen. It's only a passing car. It's only, it's just, it's nothing. 

I have said those words a thousand times. Like a prayer.

My poor Demeter. My beloved little sister. It's all right, I'm here.

Why does she seek comfort in me? Why does she not go at once to her dearest Munkustrap? Her champion, her love. What can I protect her from? I am no fighter, I could not hold an enemy at bay. I am just an inch or so taller than she, and no stronger. Why me?

I am not brave, not really. Maybe she knows this and just would rather pretend that fear does not touch me. Or maybe she believes I'm as confident as I say I am.

When my sleep is haunted by nightmares of Macavity, when I wake, shaking and covered in sweat, I hold my tongue. I laugh it off, as if I never saw him. As if he never touched me. 

Oh, but I have never been brave. There has simply been no chance to express my fear. Perhaps when I was kitten. But I was never a kitten. I was born this way, tall, aloof, mature. I was born with a sexy smile on my lips and a wink in my eye. I was never a child. I've never had a child's innocence or optimism. I couldn't have been a child, not with a name like mine. Bombalurina is the name of a woman, not a girl. Even it's various nicknames, Bomba, Bombie, even the brief Bomb are not names you give a child. The five syllables can't even be propeply pronounced in a youthful mouth. It's long and rolling, acutely femine. It suits me.

There was no childhood. I always knew I was different from the others my age. I just didn't understand that inside I was already grown. I remember when I realized that fact. That moment is a very dark spot in my soul that I mostly attempt to ignore. I remember waking up in a cold, strange alley, without Mother, without Demeter. I cried that night. For the first and last time. I spent three nights there, sleeping behind garbage bins, trying to hide from the eyes of the leering toms. Even at that tender age, my body was half way to what it is now. All red and curves. Each night was forever, so I lived three eternities before my first Ball. I was so afraid. 

I found Demeter by chance. A lucky twist of fate. I eventually stumbled out of the alleys on to a wooden porch. My baby sister was there in the house of some humans, drinking cream, sleeping on pillows. 

How did you get here?

Mum.

Mother had made sure Demeter was safe and sound before disappearing forever into the streets. Why she did not take such pains with me, I'll never know. I suppose she prefered Demeter, her sweet, perfect, golden goddess. Perhaps I reminded my mother too much of herself. It matters very little now. I doubt she remembers and I know Demeter does not. For this reason I can hold no grudge against my favored sister. I am forced to feel my anger towards the memory of a queen I myself can barely recall. Whom I will never see again.

Heaviside, it's hard. To never cry or scream or shake or fall into someone else's arms. Someone who can worry for you for a while. The 'yard seems coupled off, somehow. Someone for everyone. Coricopat and Tantomile. Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer. Mistoffelees and Victoria. Skimbleshanks and Jennyanydots. All paired off to their other half. Someone for everyone. For me there is no one and too many. I cannot confide in Demeter. She can barely cope with herself, much less me. She would break under the pressure. Munkustrap sees me as his partner in this matter. Co-protectors of Demeter. Tugger, bless him, could not handle something so serious. And the other toms, there's nothing there. Nothing beyond a quick kiss, nothing stable enough to support me if I break.

I am so afraid.

And yet Demeter comes to me. I say the magic words and everything is right again. Sometimes I want to push her away, I don't want to deal with her vulnerability.

Grow up, child, don't cling to me! There's nothing there! There's no magic in me to make you safe.

But I never could. Demeter and I are both afraid, but I am a far better actor than she. She has never considered hiding her emotions. I don't think she could. She is assured by my arm around her shoulder, my promise, my "bravery". I will be brave for both of us. How long can I keep it up? How long will a seductive mask hide my trembling? How many more times can I chant that prayer for a fallen goddess? 

It's only, it's just, it's nothing.

As long as I have to.


	5. Tight-Rope Walker

Note: I debated weather or not to use the accent in this piece and decided against it, with the exception of Rumpelteazer's name. For the purposes of this, Mungo's inner monologue is accent free. 

Tight-Rope Walker-Mungojerrie

I'm not street trash. I'm not a thug either. I just didn't have the luxury of a human home for most of my youth. I didn't have the luxury of anything really, until Macavity. 

The others don't understand. Not even Teaza, which is odd. We're so similar, you'd think she would. Maybe she's made of sterner stuff than me, I don't know. 

I think most cats would have done the same thing I did. I was alone. A kitten, with no one in the world. Every day a war with all of existence just to make it to the next sunrise. Life with Macavity and crew was a relief. I didn't have to fight so hard. He offered me a place to sleep, food to eat, and, in a strange sense, a family. A weird family, I'll admit, with Macavity at the head. Still, he was some kind of father and the rest were the closest thing I'd ever had to brothers. And I got to do what I'm best at, which is basically stealing and destroying things.

All Macavity asked in return, besides a share of the loot, was loyalty. This is what made it a family, I guess. Absolute allegiance to him and the others. I was more than happy to give it. I saw no reason not to. I was thrilled to belong and thrilled to be loyal.

Up to that point, I was happier than I had ever been. It was like fate tilted in my favor for a while. Then I met Teaza.

This was great, of course. Finding Teaza was like finding the rest of me. It just changed things. She's just like me. Happy-go-lucky, a gifted theif, a little clumsy. Hell, she even looks like me. And, like me, she was alone. But she didn't seem to mind this as much as I had. Sure, she was glad to have my company, but she didn't have the strong desire to be a part of something bigger. Her and I together were big enough for her.

She met Macavity breifly a few times and came with me on nearly all my jobs. She did not, however, join the ranks I held so dear. She's too good for that. Macavity tolerated this, so long as I remembered where my loyalties were. And I did remember.

Then things changed again. I've come to hate change. Mostly because there's nothing you can do to stop it. This change came in the form of a junkyard where Teaza and I found an entire world. A world of smiling faces and kind words and even acceptance. Here was a new family, with a much more fatherly father and brothers who weren't in constant competition to outshine you. There was even mothers and sisters. Teaza loved them all immediately. And they loved her. I suppose they loved me, too. I couldn't bring myself to love them. That would be disloyal to the family I already had.

They're a sneaky and persistant lot. I found myself growing more attached. But I was never completely at ease. I knew their loathing of Macavity. Munkustrap especially hated him. This scared me a little, because Munkustrap was always so good to me. And there I was, devoted to his enemy.

But they know. How they found out, I'm not really sure. Maybe Teaza let something slip, maybe my reputation has spread too far. It doesn't matter. What matters is that they don't care. Well, they care, but they don't judge. They still accept me into their fold. This rips at me. They know my deepest, ugliest secret. A fact I had never hidden or been ashamed of until Teaza and I wandered into their domain.

But still, I owe so much to Macavity. I own nearly everything to Macavity. I promised my loyalty, and I never go back on my word. I am faithful to a fault. But now, he asks to much. He can't be serious. He wants to go after Deuteronomy. During the Ball, of all things. And he wants me to help. He won't listen to reason, won't listen to my pleading.

He's determined. There'll be no changing his mind. I said nothing, I just left, went back to Victoria Grove. Teaza was all smiles and sunshine, so I smiled back.We left for the junkyard when the sun disapeared. I'm a clown by nature, so I play the clown and try to forget Macavity and his plans. And I do, for a while. The concerns drift from my mind as I dance and sing and do what Jellicle's do

I can't pretend forever. I can't forget forever. The night is wearing on and he's already made two brief apperances. Poor Demeter is beside herself. It's only a matter of time before he stops playing mind games and does what he's been planning. And what will I do?

I either jump and help him, like I've sworn to do, like I've always done. Or I stand with the others. With Munkustrap, Ademtus, Alonzo, Skimble. Hell, maybe even some of the queens will prove themselves warriors when their world is threatened. 

Ah, Teaza, love. If I could talk to you about this. . .

I don't need to. I know what she would say. I know what will happen if run to Macavity's side. And I know what will happen if I don't. I wish fate would tip my way just one more time. Let Mac forget his plans. Let someone talk him out of it. Let us dance and sing and go home again and be happy. I've always been an able tight-rope walker. I've been able to dance across the rope between Macavity and the Jellicles, but tonight, I think the rope will be cut. I'll finally have to choose a side. 

Teaza's talking to me. She's laughing. She's always laughing. Her laughter tips the scales in my mind. Mac and Teaza are not a package deal.

She's laughing at- with Skimble. She adores him. She jumps down from where she had been sitting with me to join some of the others in Skimble's game-song. 

I'll just sit and watch for a bit. Maybe I can forget again. I have some time left. The rope will last a little longer. 


End file.
